In Life We Are In Death
by bibliophilemnm
Summary: Matthew's absence is felt throughout his son's life.
1. 1926

_Disclaimer: (Do people even write disclaimers anymore?) If it were mine, this fic would not be necessary, because a certain character would still be alive._

_A/N: Hello old (and new) friends! It's been a while – a long while, in fact, since I tried my hand at some fanfiction. I've been out of the game for what feels like FOREVER. It's been a long time since I've had time to write something other than my school papers, but this is an idea I've had for a few months now. _

_I think it will end up being about 10 chapters, give or take, and it will be about Mary and George and life without Matthew while his presence/absence is felt around them all the time. Each chapter will take place on one of George's birthdays. So, I hope you enjoy my first attempt at Downton fanfiction! Thanks for reading!_

* * *

He was the light of her life. Everyone in her life knew it. She had once remarked in a kind of crude joke that apparently she only ever had room in her heart for one man at a time. That was why on the same day she was introduced to her son, she lost her husband and the father of what was destined to be her only child.

She often told him that he was the only reason she had made it through the first year after his father's passing. One of the last things Matthew had ever said to her was that she would be a great mother, and she would be damned if she was going to prove him wrong.

From that day forward, she only had eyes for him. And though he knew that she was heartbroken by her husband's passing and had never completely recovered from it (and probably never would), he also knew that she always did her best for him, just as he did his best to never let her down. Just as he knew she would do anything for him, he knew that he would do whatever it took to make her happy.

* * *

1926

For his fifth birthday, his mother took George to London to see his first show. Before the show, she took him to dinner at the nicest restaurant he'd ever been to. And though he really wanted to impress his mother with how well he could behave, he couldn't help watching the other people in the room.

"George, really!" his mother had exclaimed when she realized he wasn't listening to a word she was saying. "It's rude to stare!"

He looked up at her wistfully. "Sorry, Mama."

She had to refrain from smiling at the expression on his face. Mary had never been able to resist that face – he looked so like his father.

She set about fussing over his appearance, smoothing his hair and ensuring he didn't have food on his face. "I wish you would have slept this afternoon on the train. Nanny will kill me for keeping you out so late."

"I'm five, Mama! I don't need a nap!" he insisted, ducking as she moved to wipe something off his face.

She couldn't help smiling this time. "You are growing up faster than I can believe. Well, I suppose we don't have anything planned for tomorrow. You can sleep the day away."

Before he could respond, a man appeared over his mother's shoulder. "Lady Mary Crawley," was all the man said, and George saw his mother stiffen slightly and put on a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she stood, turned, and said, "Sir Richard – how lovely."

"May I introduce my wife, Lady Anne Carlisle?" he said, stepping aside slightly so his wife could stand beside him.

"How do you do?" She nodded slightly to the woman. "This is my son, Mr. George Crawley." George stood at this point as well and took the man's proffered hand.

"A pleasure to meet you, young man," Sir Richard said, and George got the distinct impression that this man was not nice, nor could he be trusted. "And where is Mr. Matthew Crawley this evening?" Sir Richard asked.

Yes, George decided, he definitely did not like this man.

He saw his mother's smile falter ever so slightly before she responded. "Unfortunately, he passed away a few years ago."

"I'm so sorry," he said immediately, and George was surprised to see that he actually looked it. "I didn't mean – "

"I know you didn't," his mama interrupted. "Thank you."

His mother changed the subject as she usually did when others mentioned his father, and George, growing bored with the conversation, started watching the waiters walk by with trays of delicious looking desserts. He heard the man ask "What brings you both to London this evening?" and his mother's reply of "We're staying with my sister for the night. It's George's birthday, so we're going to see 'Peter Pan' at the theatre, and we'll catch the train back to Downton in the morning."

They continued with their grown-up talk for a few more minutes, and George continued eyeing desserts until he heard Sir Richard say, "We'd best be off," and before George had a chance to hide the fact that he'd been daydreaming of the chocolate cake he'd just seen pass, the man laughed and said, "it looks as though this young man has his eye on dessert." Sir Richard reached into his pocket and handed a few small coins to George before saying, "Happy birthday."

Sir Richard left and his mother ordered him a piece of cake.

"Mama?" he asked as he dug in to his dessert.

"Yes, darling?"

"How do you know that man? He didn't seem very nice." Another bite.

"What makes you say that?" She placed his napkin back on his lap. "He bought you a dessert, after all."

George shrugged. "I just didn't like him. And he made you sad."

"How do you know he made me sad?" she asked gently. She often marveled at how perceptive her son was. He was able to pick up on her thoughts and feelings more than anyone else in the family. He was terribly clever for one so young. Terribly, terribly clever – like Matthew.

"He talked about Papa. You don't like that."

When his mother didn't respond, he continued, "Do _you_ like him?"

She looked at him for a moment but didn't answer. And for the first time that night, George was unable to read his mother. She looked as though she wanted to answer but thought better of it – she couldn't trust herself with words when it came to Sir Richard Carlisle. "You don't, do you?"

Instead of responding, she simply asked a passing waiter for the time and said, "Let's hurry and eat this or we'll be late." Yes. He was definitely perceptive – too perceptive for his own good.

* * *

That night, when they had returned to the flat his Aunt Edith shared with his Uncle Michael, he heard his mother tell his aunt about it as he was given one last birthday treat (cookies and hot chocolate) before finally being sent to bed. "He was just showing off for his new wife," Mama had insisted.

"You don't know that," Aunt Edith had said. "Maybe she's changed him for the better. Maybe he's a genuinely nice person because of her. Maybe he's finally found the _right_ woman."

His mother seemed slightly annoyed by what his aunt had said. "Yes, I do know. He used to do the same for me. He bought Haxby for me, remember?"

George dropped a piece of his cookie on the floor, and his mother looked over as though she had just remembered he was still awake. She quickly ushered him off to bed.

As he drifted off to sleep that night, he thought back on dinner and realized that just as he had not liked Sir Richard, his mother had been no more than polite to the man; and though she didn't answer him when he had asked about it, maybe she didn't particularly like him either.

Either way, the cake was delicious.

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_Hope you liked it so far! I would love some reviews…they would definitely make my day!_


	2. 1928

_A/N: Hi again! Thanks to everyone who reviewed or favorited or followed or whatever else you can do here now! I love getting those notifications – they make me so happy _:D_! You all are wonderful!_

_I would like to intro this chapter by saying it was came out of a conversation I had with my sister who is a diehard Anna/Bates shipper. She kind of inspired this by something she said in the conversation. Please enjoy!_

* * *

1928

"Did Mr. George enjoy his birthday?"

"I think so. He was certainly spoiled today – we can say that at the very least."

"Well, if that's the case, I'm sure he did enjoy it."

"I just can't believe how old he's gotten already – far too old for my liking," Mary said.

Anna smiled. "I can understand that."

"Still… I suppose it's all right to spoil him once a year. It's not every day your only child turns seven." She paused for a moment. _Her only child_ – the thought saddened her. "But he was so quiet all day," she continued. "I was worried he wasn't enjoying his day at all. But I think I've got to the bottom of it. He asked me a rather interesting question as I was putting him to bed," Mary told her, giving Anna a look in the mirror as Anna prepared her for bed herself.

"Oh? What was that, milady?" Anna asked as she began brushing Mary's hair.

"He asked me how he would know if he was in love," Mary replied. Anna saw Mary smile slightly in the mirror and had to laugh a little herself.

"And did you have an answer for him?"

"I just told him that I didn't know how _he_ would know, because everyone is different. I didn't know I was in love until I was in love. It wasn't sudden, but it happened gradually, and I wasn't aware of it until I was completely hopeless. But I did warn him that he must wait to do anything until he's sure – settling for someone he doesn't really love just won't do."

She paused for a moment, and then added, "He looked so serious, and I honestly didn't know how to answer him. I know what my mother told me when I was younger, but I'm sure it's different with boys. Matthew would have probably known just how to handle it. He would have had exactly the right words."

They were silent for a few seconds following this statement.

"Was there anything in particular leading him to ask?" Anna finally pondered aloud.

"I asked him that very question. And he said there was a girl at school, and he warned me she was younger than him, and he said that his heart starts to race when he sees her, and his palms get sweaty, and he feels like he can't talk when he's around her. He said he was certain he was 'hopeless,' too."

Anna smiled again and said, "That sounds very serious to me. What a lucky young woman, to have earned the affections of such a sweet boy, and at such a young age, too. Maybe he's already found the next Countess of Grantham."

Mary laughed at the irony of Anna's statement. "I'm not sure how her parents would feel about that."

"Well, you'd better tell him to take his time. Being a countess is more work than any little girl can commit to," Anna replied, as they both continued to laugh at the adorable, yet absurd, possibility.

"I asked if he would tell me her name," Mary continued.

"Do you know the girl, then?"

"Oh, yes, we've met a few times," Mary said vaguely before finally getting to what she thought Anna would find the most amusing. "You wouldn't guess who he said it was."

Anna stopped braiding and gave Mary an inquiring look in the mirror.

"Margaret Bates."

They caught each other's eyes in the mirror before bursting into a fit of giggles.

* * *

_Courtney (my sister) would love nothing more than if there were a Baby Bates (something I think everyone wants) who will then grow up to marry George and become the Countess of Grantham._

_Now, do you see that little text box at the bottom of the screen (right below this) that says, "Type your review here…"? Could you maybe write something in there and click the "Post Review" button? Much appreciated!_


	3. 1934

_A/N: First, I must say that I was so excited by the reviews from last week. I loved reading them so much and I really enjoy getting your feedback. I also discovered that it is possible to reply to reviews (yay!) so if you reviewed chapter 2, and have Private Messaging turned on, I replied to you!_

_Second, we are finally getting into some of the angst of this story. This is actually one of my favorite chapters, despite the fact that it's not a happy one, so I hope you enjoy it, too!_

* * *

1934

On his thirteenth birthday, George Crawley discovered that his birthday, while a joyous occasion for him, was actually the hardest day of the year for his mother.

He had always known that his birthday was the one day every year that he and his mother did not eat breakfast together. She had once told him that the day after his father's funeral she had requested her breakfast be brought to the nursery instead of her bedroom. She had enjoyed breakfast with only her son for company every morning since – except on his birthday. George believed his Mama when she told him it was so he could sleep longer on his birthday (and sleep he usually did), and he had always assumed she ate breakfast downstairs with the rest of the family that one day every year.

But sometime between his twelfth and thirteenth birthdays, both he and his mother had decided that, though they very much enjoyed their time alone together before the hustle and bustle of the day, he really was much too old to continue to take his breakfast in the nursery, and they had both joined the rest of the family downstairs in the dining room ever since.

That was, until his birthday. He arrived downstairs slightly later than usual (taking advantage of his day to sleep) to find the entire family already eating their breakfasts, minus (of course) his grandmother, and (more suspiciously) his mother.

"Where's Mama?" George asked, upon walking in and discovering his mother's mysterious absence.

"We thought perhaps you both had taken breakfast upstairs today for your birthday. She may just be a few minutes late. She hadn't eaten breakfast downstairs in nearly fifteen years until you both started to eat with us a few months ago," his grandfather revealed. "Maybe she's been temporarily held up."

This confused him slightly. George _knew_ she had eaten downstairs at least thirteen times - once a year on his birthday. Perhaps Grandpapa had forgotten. He was getting older, after all, and maybe slightly more forgetful, though one would think that he would remember it on such an important day.

George waited on his mother for most of breakfast, but when she never came down, he grew worried about her. He excused himself early and made to go to her bedroom.

He turned the corner to the corridor of his mother's room just as George saw Anna leave the room in question and turn towards him. "Mr. Crawley, can I help you with anything?"

"I was just looking for Mama. She didn't come downstairs for breakfast."

"She asked for breakfast in her room this morning."

_What? Really?_ He thought. Of all the days…

"Is she all right?"

"I'm not sure her ladyship is feeling quite herself this morning. But it's nothing to trouble you with. I'm sure it's nothing. Why don't you run along and I'll tell Lady Mary you were looking for her?"

He nodded and walked in the opposite direction as Anna. Walking slowly and watching her out of the corner of his eye, George doubled back as soon as she had turned the corner. He approached his mother's door slowly and quietly and was not prepared for what he heard.

George had never seen (or heard) his Mama cry – not even when her beloved grandmother had passed away last year. But there was no mistaking the sniffling he heard beyond the door.

He hesitated slightly, but knocked. The sniffling sound stopped, but when she called "Who is it?" through the door, her voice was thick from crying.

"It's me!" he called through the door, then added unnecessarily, "It's George." George heard his mother hurrying around the room, and when she finally opened the door, she was still pulling her dressing gown over her nightgown. He noticed her hair still in a messy braid (had she spent the entire morning in bed?), and it was obvious that she had quickly tried to hide that she had been crying and not quite succeeded.

"George, my darling!" she said, seeming surprised by his being at her door so early. "Happy birthday." She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a kiss on the forehead, wondering to herself when he had gotten so tall. "Have you enjoyed sleeping late this morning?"

Instead of answering her though, he asked, "What's the matter, Mama?"

"Oh, it's nothing," she replied, wiping away a stray tear. "I'm just being silly." They stood there for a moment before Mary spoke again. "Come along in for a moment. I was wondering when I could do this, but since you're here, I have something I want to give you away from the rest of the family."

George did as he was told and sat with his mother on his father's unused side of the bed. His mother's side was still turned down; George's suspicions that she had yet to get out of bed were confirmed.

Mary reached into the drawer of the bedside table, atop which stood the picture of his father, and pulled out a small box, which she handed to him. He gave her a questioning look, but she just gave him a slight smile and an encouraging nod.

Taking the top off the unwrapped box, he was slightly surprised. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't this.

His father's pocket watch, given to him by _his_ father on _his_ thirteenth birthday. He recognized it from all the times he had taken it out of the drawer in his father's bedside table and his Mama had warned him that he must be careful with it.

He looked up and saw that his mother's eyes were filled with tears again.

"Mama…" he honestly didn't know how to finish the sentence. For the first time in his life, he was being entrusted with one of his father's most prized possessions.

"He would have wanted you to have it," Mary replied simply.

George was suddenly very aware of where he was – sitting in the place his father used to occupy nightly, and next to his mother no less, who, despite the absence of her late husband, still kept to her side of the bed. George recognized the irony in the situation.

To him, Matthew Crawley was the equivalent of a mythical creature. George, of course, owed his life to the man he had only met once and didn't remember at all, but he had never truly been more than a man in pictures, a man people often told him he looked like, and a man his mother and Granny Isobel spoke of often.

For his mother, however, Matthew Crawley had been a beloved friend, companion, husband; someone with whom she had planned to spend the rest of her days; the man with whom she had planned on raising a family; the love of her life. Matthew Crawley had been the man with whom she had shared this very bed every night until exactly thirteen years ago.

And suddenly, he realized why his mother was so upset.

* * *

_And now, my usually plea for reviews: Please, please, pretty please with sugar on top? I'm going out of town this week and I would love nothing more than reviews in my inbox when I get to Texas!_


	4. 1939

_A/N: Once again, thanks to everyone for your wonderful reviews. I can't tell you how much they are appreciated! I replied to them all again, and even got some responses back, which was so exciting for me!_

_Anywho, next chapter. I'm sure you can guess from the year what's going to happen. Hopefully you guys like it…more of a transition chapter than anything._

* * *

1939

On his eighteenth birthday, George enlisted in his royal highness's army. He knew his mother would hate it. For several years now, and especially since the king had announced that England and Germany were at war, she had told him here and there about the first war and how horrible it was. He knew it was something she hated to even think about. She spoke of how Europe had wanted the war but didn't know what they were getting into, and of convalescent homes, and injuries, and, of course, his father.

So he had expected his mother to be angry or upset when she found out. That's why he hadn't told her.

She was walking down the main staircase when the butler let him through the front door, and there was a knowing look in her eyes when she saw him, as though she had been expecting him to do exactly what he had just done: wake early and enlist without telling her, while he knew she would be shut away in her room and didn't want to be disturbed.

Mary approached him, took him into her arms, kissed his cheek, murmured "Happy birthday," in his ear, and then stepped back and held him at arms' length for a few seconds.

He was tall, taller than either of his parents, and very skinny. He was the spitting image of his father – blonde hair, blue eyes, and that smile that women couldn't resist.

"You've done it then, have you?" She asked him, and he knew he couldn't hide it from her.

"Yes," he replied simply, looking at the ground to avoid her eyes. But he knew it was futile. She would stand there in silence until he explained himself. He knew the tactic well – she had used it often, and he caved under the pressure every time. So he looked up, and the moment he made eye contact, he launched into what he was sure would be a very guilty-sounding explanation. "Mama, I know – "

But Mary held up her hand to silence him and he stopped at once. "When do you leave?" she asked, and he realized that she didn't sound angry or upset, but rather like she was asking him when his friend had asked him for tea.

"You seem very nonchalant about this," he responded, avoiding her question.

"Getting angry won't do me any good now, will it?" She had a point. "Now, when do you leave?"

He knew his mother was terrified. His father had almost died in the Great War, and after the reports coming from London that England may soon be under attack, she was more terrified than ever. She had even telephoned her sister (a rare feat in itself) and insisted that Edith and her family come back to Downton, Aunt Edith had sent Cecilia and Emily ahead of her a few weeks ago with the promise that she and Michael would follow before the new year. Sybbie had left last year to train as a nurse (and though his mother denied it, George knew he had seen a tear in the corner of her eye as they waved his cousin off). George suddenly felt very guilty for worrying her more.

"A week from today."

"And you're sure this is what you want?"

He thought a moment, but said, "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Then, here," she pulled a small toy dog out of her pocket and gave it to him. "I gave this to your father before he left. It kept him safe. So, you had better take good care of it."

"You knew I was going this morning, didn't you?" How else would she have known to bring the toy?

"I've known you since before you were born. Of course I knew what you were up to. But maybe it's best not to mention it to your Uncle Tom until tomorrow," Mary added good naturedly, then kissed him again on the cheek and started walking away, calling over her shoulder, "There's tea in the library whenever you're ready."

And they didn't speak of it again for the rest of the day. George knew he hadn't heard the end of it from his mother, but he also knew he had her support.

What he didn't know was that exactly four years later, he would see his mother for the first time since he left for training in a hospital near London.

* * *

_A/N: All-righty! That's it for now…more next week! But in the meantime in between time, do you see the review space at the bottom of this page? I triple-dog dare you to fill it in and press the post button :P! You would seriously make my week!_


	5. 1943

_A/N: Hello again! Thanks for the reviews…I'm sure you tire of hearing this but I really do appreciate them __._

_On an unrelated note, I've recently started watching "Arrested Development", and I finally get all the jokes people make about "No touching!" when Bates is in prison._

_Anyway, here's the next chapter – what happened four years later._

* * *

1943

Upon waking, all he felt was searing pain in his left arm, and he had to bight his lip to keep from screaming out. Though his eyes remained clamped tightly shut, fighting to keep from crying, he groaned in pain, praying for it all to end.

But then he heard a soothing voice, a voice he hadn't heard in four years, the voice of the one person he wanted to see above anyone else in the world, speaking softly, "Shh… It's all right, darling."

Judging from the pain in his arm, it was not "all right," nor would it ever be all right again. But when he felt his mother's hand start running through his hair, just as she had done when he was a child, he couldn't help but believe her.

She must have signaled a doctor because he heard her say to someone else, "He's in pain – I think the medicine must have worn off."

George felt a pinch near his left shoulder as the doctor injected him with medication. "That should take effect in a few minutes, Captain Crawley."

As the doctor walked away, he finally opened his eyes and looked up at his mother. She looked pale – too pale, he though - and even thinner than he remembered. She looked as though she were under a lot of stress but didn't want others to see it. "What happened?" he asked her through gritted teeth, praying the medicine would start working soon.

"They said it was a grenade," she answered carefully in a low voice, and he realized that he must be in a room with several other men. "You have shrapnel in your arm, and a few minor burns. They'll take you for surgery later this morning to try and repair it."

It was coming back to him. He and his platoon had been patrolling the previous night, when there had been a bright flash. He heard Edward, Private Stark, yelling at them all to "get down!" and jumping on top of what must have been the grenade his mother had described. Then there was an explosion, pain, and darkness.

"What happened to Edward?" he asked. His mother hesitated slightly, and he could tell she was wondering if she should tell him what he already knew. "Private Stark?! What happened?" he almost yelled.

"Oh, darling…there was nothing they could do…" she told him. The words sank in, and he found he could no longer contain the tears he had been holding back. "They said it would have been quick. He wouldn't have felt anything. I'm so sorry, darling."

"Oh, Mama…"

They sat together in silence for the rest of the morning, his mother continuing to stroke his hair, comforting him as best she could, George drifting in and out of consciousness until the doctor came to take him to the surgical suite. His mother kissed him on the forehead and whispered, "Be safe, my sweet boy."

When he woke again, it was dark in the corridor, and his mother was sitting next to his bed, holding his hand, looking exhausted but chatting quietly with a woman in a nurse's uniform, whose face he was trying to bring into focus through the fog of anesthesia.

George shifted slightly, alerting the women to the fact that he was awake. "Thank goodness," he heard his mother breathe, and he felt her take the hand she was holding and kiss it gently. "How are you feeling?"

His tongue didn't seem to be working quite right, and his mouth was dry, so he settled for whispering, "Fine." He gave the nurse a quick glance.

"George, you remember Maggie…? Her mother was my maid when you were younger. Now her parents own a hotel in the village. I think you went to grade school together. And her father actually helped Matthew when he was injured…" She trailed off but almost immediately picked up on a different track. "Maggie's been keeping me company since you went for surgery."

They all sat in silence for a few moments before Mary said, "I'll just go telephone Sybbie. I told her I would when you woke. Excuse me."

She left George and Maggie alone. Maggie, looking around as if to make the situation less awkward, laid eyes on the small stuffed dog sitting on his bedside table. "This is cute. What's it doing here?"

His tongue seemed to be working better now. "My mother gave it to me for good luck. My father took it to the front as well. I guess it didn't work as well as she had hoped."

"You're still alive. That's something," she insisted. They sat in silence for another few seconds before she softly advised, "You should get some rest."

He didn't need telling twice.

* * *

_A/N: __Soooo…The young Miss Bates returns…_

_Reviews are greatly appreciated and would really, really, really make my week. Just sayin'._


	6. 1946

_A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for the reviews last week! I have been dealing with a stressful new job and they really made my week __._

_Here is the latest chapter. I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

1946

It had been his mother's idea. He had been skeptical at first, but he knew now that she had ultimately been right.

Before the war, George had planned on going to university, but once the war started, he thought the opportunity had passed him by – especially after his injury. He had moped around Downton for a month after being released from the hospital, itching to rejoin his men but knowing he couldn't.

His mother allowed this for that first month before announcing that she was tired of his constant attitude and would no longer tolerate it. She knew all too well what it was like to want nothing more than to have something that was physically impossible. George knew they said she had floated around the house like a ghost for months after his father's death before anyone was able to shake her of it.

She had told him that just because he was injured didn't mean he couldn't have a life. He had argued that without his left arm, his dominant arm, he was practically useless. She had countered that by telling him about his father's misdiagnosis during the first war. He couldn't counter that.

So George had set to work learning to be right-handed, or to at least be able tolerate the pain in his left hand, and though he was still frustrated, he knew he would get through it. His mother had suggested he apply to Oxford. He had never expected anything to come of it. And yet, here he sat, a first year junior member of Worcester College, reading in law.

And looking across the table at the beautiful girl sharing his study room, he was reassured once again that his mother had been correct, if not for the reasons she had given.

Maggie Bates was reading in English as a junior member of Regent's Park College (conveniently around the corner from Worcester) on a full tuition scholarship. She had approached him in the first week of the term after spotting him at the Radcliffe Camera, and they had studied together at least once a week since.

He found that he worked better when she was there. He didn't want her to see how frustrated he got when his writing looked no better than a bunch of scribbles, be it with his right hand or his left. When she was with him, he was more patient with himself, able to concentrate more easily, if for no other reason than he didn't want her to see him get angry.

But he couldn't keep his frustration a secret from her forever, and one night he found himself throwing his pencil across the room and yelling in anger. Try as he might to make his left hand work, he was forced, once again, to face the reality that he simply could no longer make his fingers work the way they should, and using his right hand never felt comfortable. He was worried he would scare her away once he realized what he had let her see.

Instead of looking frightened, she gave him a look that was an odd combination of expectation and pity, and said, "I was wondering if you ever got angry about it. I don't think I could manage if it was me."

George started internally beating himself over the head for letting her see that side of him. He felt her small hands touch his outstretched, injured hand, watched as she took his hand into hers and ran her fingers over the scarred flesh before laying it carefully back down on the table. He then watched as she took his paper from him, picked up her own pencil, and suggested, "Why don't you dictate to me for a while, and you can have a break?"

Ever since, he had dictated all his essays to her, and his tutor was thrilled his essays were finally legible. When he explained why his handwriting was not only suddenly readable but slightly girlish as well, the professor had told him, "She's a keeper. Don't let that young lady go in a hurry."

And he didn't intend to. She was beautiful, intelligent, kind, generous – in short, everything he wanted in a girl. He had no idea how she didn't already have a sweetheart, but no other man would ever be given the chance to audition for the role if he had anything to say about it.

The pair stayed at the library until it closed. George told her it was far too late for her to walk back by herself, and though she insisted that she would be fine, that Regent's was out of his way, he had said, "not by much," and escorted her back nonetheless.

But when they reached the front door of Regent's Park, George found he wasn't quite ready to say goodbye. They stood outside for several minutes in the crisp night air before she said that she really should be going to bed.

He kissed her then, and, much to his surprise, she kissed him back, and instead of retiring to bed, they both stood outside for several more minutes before someone turned and started walking toward them down Pusey Street, making them both pull apart and smile shyly at each other.

George finally bade her goodnight and set off toward his own college. But as he walked, he became certain of one thing. His seven-year-old self had been right: he was in love with Margaret Bates.

* * *

_A/N: Yay! Maggie and George (not that most of you didn't see that coming)! So excited! Are you? Could you tell me about it? I've been having a terrible day…a review would definitely help cheer me up!_

_On a side note, I didn't choose those colleges at random. When my sister and I studied abroad, we studied at Regent's Park College, and I can promise that it was the best term of my life…Maggie would like it there :D._

_Also, I do know that, technically, Michaelmas term at Oxford doesn't start until the beginning of October and George's birthday is either in August or September. Let's just pretend term starts a little earlier since each chapter is supposed to be on his birthday._


	7. 1950

_A/N: Another week, another chapter! We're getting towards the end here, so I appreciate the feedback!_

_I'm going out of town next week for training (to literally the furthest city in the state from my own), so I'm unsure if I will have Internet or not…next week might be a few days late._

_But, on with the chapter!_

* * *

1950

It was a conversation George could honestly say he never thought he would have. In fact, it wasn't a possibility he had ever considered – which was how, he supposed, they had ended up in this situation in the first place. He and Maggie had discussed their plans for marriage, and their future family, but it wasn't supposed to happen like this. When he had pictured their future together, he had always seen it in that order: marriage, then family. It _definitely _wasn't supposed to happen like this at all.

And yet, this morning, when Maggie had come to the house unexpectedly, he immediately knew something was wrong, She wasn't expected until later, to celebrate his birthday with him, but she arrived several hours early, looking as though she were trying to stay calm but internally failing. She explained their present predicament to him, and though he knew it wouldn't be a pleasant conversation, he also knew immediately who to turn to.

They sought her out, sitting down with her in the library. Mary listened without interrupting until they had finished and took her time before responding.

She first poured a cup of tea and handed it to Maggie. She then sat next to her and did her best to calm the now visibly upset young woman. When this had been accomplished, she finally asked Maggie gently, "How are you feeling?"

Maggie shrugged and replied quietly, "Fine, I guess."

"Does Anna know?"

Maggie shook her head

"Well, first thing's first," Mary began. "We must tell your mother." Maggie looked as though she were even more nervous about the prospect, but nodded, recognizing this was not something she could keep from her mother. "I'll invite her for tea tomorrow, and the four of us can discuss it together. As adults. And I'll call down to the hospital to see if they can fit you in for a checkup tomorrow afternoon. And then we can start on plans for the wedding. It will have to be moved up – next month if we can manage it."

They discussed a few other seemingly trivial details before Maggie left to go back to the hotel she still helped her mother run, with instructions from Mary to try and relax and just rest, no matter how difficult it may seem, and they would see her tonight for George's dinner and would discuss it no further today.

After Maggie had left, Mary had given her son a kiss on the cheek and excused herself without a word about the conversation they had just had.

George left her alone for the rest of the morning, left her to her own thoughts while he remained lost in his. He had planned on speaking with her again at luncheon, but when she didn't turn up, he ate quickly without even noticing what was served and went on a mission to find her.

He found her exactly where he'd suspected he might, on "her bench" under the shade tree on the grounds. He often found her there, usually reading. Today, though, she seemed to be deep in thought, and she didn't notice him approaching until he was almost immediately in front of her. She looked up at him, but didn't say anything, so he took the plunge himself.

"Mama, I know you're angry with me, and I understand that – "

"I'm not angry," she interrupted simply. He looked stunned, but she just smiled slightly at him before asking, "Are you all right?"

She patted the seat next to her, and he practically collapsed into it, not completely realizing how draining the morning had been until that moment. "Yes. No. I'm not sure. I'm more shocked than anything. Though, on second thought, I suppose I shouldn't be." He glanced sideways at his mother. "You're really not angry?"

"Not angry, no. Maybe a little disappointed, but not angry. I assure you, if anyone has the right to be angry, it's not me."

"What does that mean?"

But instead of answering, she asked, "Did I ever tell you that I turned your father down the first time he proposed?" George shook his head. "Or, rather, I took too long to answer him, and he withdrew his proposal because he questioned my motives. And he was right, of course (he usually was, but I never would have told him that). But I wasn't hesitating for the reason he thought.

"He thought I was hesitating because we had recently discovered he may not be the heir, but the truth was, I had a secret – one that Maggie's mother helped me to cover up. And I knew I had to tell your father before we married. I was afraid that he wouldn't want to marry me, that he would hate me because of what I had done, but I also knew that it would be dishonest to not tell him the whole story of the woman he was marrying.

"I didn't tell him until six years later, in 1920. My fiancé at the time was a horrible man, but he knew my secret and was blackmailing me into marrying him – you met him once when you were young, and I think you disliked him almost as much as I do. So, I finally told your father my secret, and he was the one who told me it didn't matter, that I still shouldn't marry that horrid man, regardless of the scandal he might cause. I think if he were here right now, your father might say something like 'the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.'"

"Mama, what was the secret?"

That was the day George learned of the scandal involving his mother and the man named Kemal Pamuk.

* * *

_A/N: Alright! It was a little different, but did you like it? Hate it? Let me know! I would love some reviews! Pretty please? With sugar on top?_


	8. 1951

_A/N: Only a few hours late! Yes!_

_Thanks so much to those who reviewed! And, this chapter is slightly longer, as per request (though not by much)._

_Just as a heads up, this is the second-to-last chapter, so I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

1951

The knock on her door at two in the morning woke Mary immediately. She quickly pulled her dressing gown on and cracked the door slightly to see who was there.

"Maggie, darling, what is it?" She opened the door wider.

"I'm sorry to wake you," she said. She looked nervous. Mary thought she had an idea what might be going on. Maggie looked down and said, "It's probably nothing. I'm just being silly."

"What is it?" Mary asked again patiently.

Maggie looked up and asked slowly, "I was wondering how you know when the baby is coming…?"

Mary opened the door completely now and immediately ushered her in. "Sit down," she said, leading her daughter-in-law to be bed.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Maggie repeated. "I still have two weeks, but – " She drew in a sharp breath.

Mary took her hand and said, "That doesn't mean anything. George was almost a full month early. But I didn't take care of myself as well as you have." Maggie let go of her hand and released her breath. "I think you should lie back, and I'll go telephone George and the doctor."

"No!" Maggie replied, grabbing Mary's arm as she helped her daughter-in-law back onto the bed. "Don't bother him until we're sure. I don't want to panic him if it's nothing."

"Of course," Mary agreed, fully expecting to be calling her son and Anna within the hour. "Try and rest. I'll be right back."

Before long, the doctor came and confirmed that Maggie would be a mother sooner rather than later. Anna came immediately. George, who was on business in London, was given strict orders that he was to go nowhere before the morning, but catch the first train and meet the car his mother would send to the station.

By the time George arrived, everything was over, and there was a new Crawley in the world.

His mother gave George a kiss on the cheek before he finally opened the door to meet his daughter.

He didn't stay long. He had never seen Maggie looking more exhausted. George left to let her get some sleep and gave the sleeping baby to his mother, who was waiting outside the door and offered to take her to the nursery.

When he could no longer resist, when he had finally shaken off all the congratulations from the staff and family who were in the area, George made his way to the nursery, careful to be quiet so as not to wake the possibly sleeping infant. He found Mary still there, rocking the child gently and singing softly to her. He could hear the baby cooing, and it was obvious that his mother was completely consumed by her grandchild. She hadn't even noticed him standing in the door.

When she had finished, he walked into the nursery and said softly, "That was one of my favorites when I was young."

She didn't look up but replied, "I know. That's why I chose it. How are you?"

George couldn't help but smile when he answered, "I've never been so happy in my life."

"Your father described it as feeling like he had fireworks exploding in his chest." She adjusted the baby's blankets.

He laughed slightly and said, "I think I can understand that." He paused for a few seconds, watching his mother with his child before asking her a question he had wondered his entire life. "Mama, would you have wanted more children? I mean, if Papa hadn't…"

"We would have loved more children. We had planned on it. He wanted dozens. But, as you say, your father…"

"Do you think he would have ever wanted you to remarry?"

His mother thought for a few moments before responding, "I think he would have wanted me to be happy. And if remarrying would have made me so, then yes. But I really never felt the need – I had you to take care of. I didn't need anyone else."

He nodded.

"Have you decided on a name for her?"

When he didn't answer right away, she looked up. "Mary-Margaret."

It was his mother's turn to hesitate before simply saying, "I'm flattered."

"Mama, you have no idea how much we appreciate what you've done for us over the last few months. And now, she'll have the names of two of the most important women in her life."

Mary was quiet for a few moments before she admitted, "I envy her."

"Why is that?" He couldn't believe that his mother could envy anyone, let alone her newborn granddaughter.

Mary thought for a few seconds. "When I was pregnant with you," she started, "I prayed and prayed you would be a boy. At the time, only men could inherit, and your father needed an heir. Matthew insisted he didn't care, and would love a girl just as much, but I was desperate for a boy. Of course, I had no way of knowing you would be our only child, but we had so many problems having children that I wanted to get it right the first time, just in case we couldn't have another.

"My parents only ever had girls. And even though they never made me feel like there was anything wrong with being a woman, I always felt inferior, like I should have been a boy. Then there would have been an heir.

"This child will never have to feel like that."

"But then the law changed, and you did inherit. I think one of the first memories I have is of Grandpapa interrupting our breakfast in the nursery to tell you. And you and Uncle Tom have done a wonderful job running the estate."

"Just promise me something."

"Anything."

"Promise you'll be better to her than I was to you." He tried to interrupt her, but she went on. "No, listen. I was terrible to you when you were young. I'm just thankful you can't remember me like that."

"You had other things to worry about," he tried to rationalize to her.

"But I shouldn't have. They shouldn't have got in my way. It was just so painful to be around you in the beginning." She looked up at him. "That was my one regret in raising you."

They were quiet again before George finally said, "You're tired, Mama. You should get some sleep."

Mary sighed. "Maybe you're right." She stood slowly and handed the baby off to him, gave him another kiss on the cheek, and left the room, leaving George alone for the first time with his newborn daughter.

This may not be his birthday, but as he stood holding her, looking at the little girl who looked just like her mother, he couldn't help but feel like this was the best birthday he had ever celebrated.

* * *

_A/N: Yay! Baby! I love babies! I hope you liked it!_

_Now, if you wouldn't mind, be a dear and review really quickly! I am out of town on business and would love to have some reviews to read instead of aimlessly wandering the Internet, looking for something to do for the next two days!_

_Thank you guys so much! I'll see you next week for the conclusion!_


	9. 1956

_A/N: Well, friends, here we are. After the longest day of work ever (11 hours!), I can finally post this final chapter! Thanks to everyone for the feedback along the way…I've loved reading everything you have to say!_

_A very short chapter for the finale. Hope you like it!_

* * *

1956

He had disappeared after the funeral, and while Maggie busied herself with the children, Anna set to work finding her son-in-law.

She found him sitting on what he had dubbed "Mama's bench" when he was a child – the one under the shade tree where his mother had liked to read. She sat down next to him and said, "What a horrible way to spend a birthday."

"Funny enough, I don't much feel like celebrating," he replied sarcastically.

Ignoring his reply, Anna waited a few minutes before starting again. "I was with your mama exactly thirty-five years ago today. Everyone was so nervous because of what happened with her sister, and because you were early. And, of course, everyone wanted an heir."

He didn't say anything, so she continued. "You seemed pretty determined to make things as difficult for your mother as possible. But, suddenly, there you were, and your Mama was just fine, and Downton had a new heir – something your grandparents had failed at – and everything was absolutely perfect in your Mama's eyes. I've never seen her happier than after your father finally arrived from Scotland. It was the only time in her life that she had her entire family together."

He was tearing up now, something he had refused to do before, but Anna pressed on, wanting him to understand. "Of course, you know as well as anyone how quickly that day turned. It went from being a dream come true for your mother to one of her worst nightmares in just a few short hours.

"I overheard your mother, just before you were born, tell your grandmother that she wanted your father there, that she felt like only half herself when your father was absent.

"I know that it hurts. I know it feels like a piece of you is missing. But your mother has been missing half of herself for thirty-five years. And I can't help but feel like she and your father are together again, and happy; and you know as well as I that even though she's not here anymore, she's never going to leave you completely."

George looked sideways at her, and she laid her hand on top of his. "Thank you, Anna." She offered him a small smile. "If you don't mind, I think I'd like to be alone for a bit."

She nodded, got up and left, leaving George to think about what she had said.

He knew she was right. His mother had loved him, and he knew he had made her happy. She told him so often. But he also knew that she had lived more than half her life with a broken heart, and he hoped that it was mended now.

And though he also knew that the pain he felt would never go away completely, he couldn't help but feel happy for her at the same time. She was finally at peace.

* * *

_A/N: Very short, but I didn't feel like much needed to be said on the subject. I honestly think that Mary will never be happy with anyone but Matthew and that she could wait an entire life to be with him in the end._

_But that's not to say I'm not looking forward to Lord Gillingham and Charles Blake and Evelyn Napier this season._

_Speaking of which, I hope everyone in England has fun watching this weekend (and I hope everyone in America has fun watching, too :P ). I'm sure this season will be wonderful._

_Now, as it's the last chapter, I would love, love, love it if you reviewed! Even if you hated it, even if you've never reviewed before, I would love to hear from you!_

_Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed in the past! 'Til the next time! ~Mere _


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